


extra credit

by hoegeta



Series: yes, professor [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But only if you squint, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Shameless Smut, hnng g ghhggh, professor cloud strife who wears GLASSES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoegeta/pseuds/hoegeta
Summary: Professor Strife is just a really nice guy.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Series: yes, professor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066175
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149





	extra credit

**Author's Note:**

> hello idk what to say here if ur reading this ur sexy and i love u <3
> 
> enjoy the Sex

Tifa failed.

She failed very, _very_ badly. It was to be expected, she guesses. She didn’t exactly read the book, per se. She skimmed a few chapters. Went online and looked up a detailed summary. Because, well, she wasn’t exactly keen on reading four hundred pages worth of nonsense about a man going on some kind of magical journey. And being a college student, life gets in the way. She’s stretched thin, homework assignments piled atop reports piled atop exams. She barely has time to breathe, much less to read such a long novel.

The summaries, however, proved inefficient. She failed that exam so, _so_ badly. She doesn’t think she answered even a single question properly.

“How’d you do?” Aerith asks, bumbling a bit as Tifa walks out of the lecture hall, sullen, her shoulders low. “Not well, it looks like.”

“I fucking failed.” 

It’s her own fault, of course. But _damn_ , this is going to hurt her grade very, very much.

“Don’t worry!” Aerith strokes Tifa’s arm, her touch warm, welcomed. “You’ll bounce back! We still have a couple more exams and assignments left in the semester!”

But...but Tifa doesn’t really think she’ll bounce back. Not when she did _that_ poorly on an exam.

“Maybe I should talk to Professor Strife...”

“Yeah, maybe he’ll give you a curve!” Aerith smiles brightly. “Or some extra credit! He’s really nice.”

Nice, he is. _Very_ much so.

When all her classmates have filtered out of the room, Tifa walks back in. Professor Strife is at his desk, shuffling through the exam papers, the sleeves of his button down rolled to his elbows. Tifa watches the highway of veins crawl up his skin, stretching over his knuckles and ending at the tips of his fingers. He hasn’t noticed her yet.

“Um, Professor?” Tifa shuts the door behind her.

He looks up and at her, his expression bland.

“Miss Lockhart.”

“Did you, by chance, look at my exam yet?” Tifa’s sheepish, tucking stray hairs behind her ear as she holds her notebook close to her chest. Professor Strife looks away, his being dyed in orange and golden bars as the light filters in from behind the blinds, framing the frown marred into his lips and bouncing off the glass of his spectacles.

“I glanced at it,” he says. “I’m quite disappointed in you, Miss Lockhart.”

Yeah, well, Tifa’s disappointed in herself, as well. It isn’t really like her to do so poorly on an exam, especially on an exam for literature, a class she somewhat enjoys (because of the professor, that is). She walks towards his desk, sets down her notebook, looks at him with hope bled into the depths of her conscience.

“I was wondering if there was something I could do to help my grade…” She trails off, bites at her lip as she gauges his reaction. He’s slack, laid-back, mellow, but he always is, even as he teaches. He leans into the back of his chair, his fingers, thin and long, fluttering at the wild, flyaway strands of his hair, pale as the sun drenches them. “Extra credit, maybe?”

“There is something you can do,” he says simply. “And I think you know what that is.”

His voice drops low, bursting in a husked tenor out of the burrows of his lungs. And Tifa feels the voice reverberate through her, pool low into the core of her body. When she’d shut the door, she made sure to lock it. And at this time of evening, there’s hardly anyone in the hallways of this building.

Perfect. She knows exactly what to do.

“I do.”

He rolls his chair back, almost into the whiteboard behind him, and Tifa crawls into his lap, settles atop him with her knees nestled around his hips. His hands come onto her waist, one of them skittering back to ride up the curve of her spine, and she arches into him, bending down to kiss him. The first touch is soft, lingering, and then his tongue comes to breach the seam of her lips, diving in until it’s tangling with hers. And there’s a lot of tongue, a lot of teeth, a lot of restlessness, noises spilling through her mouth as he goes in deeper, soaks in all of her breath until she’s panting, heaving.

She feels something hard under her, outlined in the black linen of his slacks. Lightly, teasingly, she rubs herself against it, back and forth until she’s keening, her panties soaked between her thighs.

He gasps into her mouth, letting out a sharp breath.

“Stop that.”

She rests her hands onto his shoulders, pulling back and dropping a kiss onto the very tip of his nose.

“No.”

And she does it again, rolls her hips into his, until she can feel herself leaking through the silk of her panties, right onto his pants. His hands come to halt her, his expression dark and woven taut in tension.

“Do you want that extra credit or not, Miss Lockhart?”

God, she loves it when he calls her that.

“Yes, Professor.”

He hums disapprovingly, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her thighs.

“No. What do you say?”

Those fingers dance over her skin until they’re dipping under her skirt, stopping right at the dampness between her thighs, barely there, barely touching her where she needs it. She jolts, her toes curling in her shoes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

His fingers sneak into her panties, prodding at her lips, sliding up and down her slit, and it’s not quite what she wants, not at all. Tifa wiggles her hips, her legs coming apart as much as they can against the armrests of his chair. His fingers, wet with her arousal, come to flick at her clit, and her mouth falls open, her nails biting into the collar of his button down.

“Yes,” she gushes. “Yes, yes, _yes_.”

“You failed that exam on purpose, didn’t you?”

She wants to reply, but the words die in her throat as his index rubs at her clit, soft, lovely circles that run all up and down her limbs. She moans, pants, fidgets, pleasure flickering down her veins as her hips follow the movements of his finger, liking the way his teeth sink into her neck, his lips coming to soothe the pain away.

Maybe she did. Maybe she failed because she wanted this. Who knows?

“Professor, oh god, _please_.”

He rubs at her a bit faster, her clit hard and swollen, and she can’t bear it, her breath leaving her in urgent puffs. Tifa moans, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder as she holds onto him for dear life, each touch sending her closer and closer to the edge. And when one of his hands comes to palm her breast, tweaking her nipple through her shirt, she feels herself flying off the edge, her mind going numb, her body jerking, seizing as the bliss holds her tight in its grasp.

“ _Cloud_ , oh my god, _oh my god_ , I’m coming—”

Her voice breaks off into a scream as she comes, long and hard, all over Professor Strife’s fingers. He rubs at her through her high, slings her further and further until she can’t take it anymore, until she’s recoiling, falling limp atop him as all the energy leaves her body, renders her a breathless, sweaty mess.

He slides his fingers out of her panties, and they’re soaked in her arousal. She takes his hand, brings it to her lips, sucks his fingers off one by one, licking up her own wetness as he stares at her through the hood of his lashes.

“Such a good girl,” he rasps.

He kisses her once more, messy and needy, then pushes her back until she’s on her feet. He gets up with an urgency, his hands grabbing at her as if they’re starved without the feel of her skin. He turns her around, bends her over his desk and pins her there, his hips pressed against her ass. His fingers bunch her skirt out of the way, then go to pull her panties down her legs, the fabric damp in her arousal.

She watches him slip the panties into his pocket.

“Hey, I like that pair.”

“Too bad.”

Oh well. Something about walking around campus bare under her skirt while her panties are in his possession excites her greatly.

She hears a zipper, the clang of his belt coming undone. His hand comes over her ass, palming it, and she feels the head of his cock poke at her lower lips, feels the precum beaded there as he runs it up and down her slit. She whines, gnawing at her lip and bucking her hips into him.

“Cloud, _please_.”

“What do you say?”

His voice, the deep rumble of it, ripples down her spine. She looks at him over her shoulder.

“Please, sir, I want it.”

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re getting an A.”

She doesn’t really have the time to be happy about that. He sinks his cock into her, buries himself to the hilt, and she moans, loud and shameless, her brain melting to putty in her skull. She’ll never get tired of this, the stretch of him inside her, how snug he fits within her, as if he was made for her walls alone. She’s wet, impossibly so, and she takes him in easily, until he reaches the furthest depths of her.

“ _Fuck_ , Tifa, you’re so good.”

She whimpers in response, holding onto the edge of the desk as he slides all the way out, only to slam right back in, so hard she sees stars. He’s fast, rough, aggressive as he grabs at her ass, as his hand comes around the back of her neck and presses her into the wood of the desk. But she _loves_ it, goes manic with it, his cock raking against her walls, hitting her so deeply she feels him even within the tips of her toes. Her body is rattled in it, the pleasure dousing her in waves, his hips as they slam into her ass, the clank of his belt buckle against the desk. She likes how hard he’s holding her, likes the pain, is excited to see the marks and bruises later.

“ _God_ ,” he groans, and she loves it, loves how he falls apart within the clasp of her body. “God, _fuck_ , Tifa, I’m gonna—”

“Inside,” she orders, looking at him over her shoulder. “Come inside me, sir.”

And Tifa’s entranced by him, how his head falls back as his thrusts get messier and messier, his pace erratic, chasing his high within her body. He’s pretty, achingly so, the red flush blended over the highs of his cheeks, the dying sun clinging to the sweat on his skin in shiny patches, the tangle of his hair on his head, the way his glasses are falling down the bridge of his nose and he can’t care enough to fix them. He grits his teeth, his breath staggered, his hands digging into her waist as he begins to come undone.

“Tifa, _Tifa_ , fuck—”

Tifa jerks her hips back, meeting his thrust as he comes deep, deep within her, feels his cum paint her walls, likes the burst of warmth inside her and loves the way he chants her name as if he knows nothing else. She bathes in the sound of his moans as he drapes himself over her, trembling above her as the bliss drains out of his body.

When he pulls out, she feels his cum drip out of her, sliding down her thighs in streams. God, _she loves it_.

His breaths are harsh, hot against her ear as he struggles to gather himself. She feels a kiss on her shoulder, right where it meets her neck, and she smiles, small and ghostly and lazy as her being is flooded in peace.

“I’ll give you an A,” he tells her, his voice soft but strained. “But why didn’t you do well? Is everything okay?”

He lifts himself off her, and she instantly misses the weight of him atop her. But his hands grab at her afterwards, pulling her into his chest, and maybe she likes that a bit better. The kiss he places on her lips is gentle, safe and sound as night comes to them, drapes a dark curtain over the world around them.

She pulls away, leans her head back as he drops kisses down the stretch of her neck.

“Yes,” she says, feeling a bit distracted by his lips. “Everything’s fine. I just didn’t wanna read the book.”

He stops, glares at her through the lens of his glasses.

“Never mind. I’m failing you.”

She breaks into a hollering laugh.

**.**

**.**

**.**

They start a new novel in the next week. Luckily, it’s much shorter and a lot more interesting than the last one. Tifa actually finds herself excited to read this book.

“Hey, Teef,” Aerith whispers when Professor Strife turns his back, goes to scrawl something onto the whiteboard. “Did you ask him to curve your grade on the last exam?”

Tifa feels the color burn into her cheeks, licking a trail to the tips of her ears. She looks away from Aerith’s bright, curious stare, warmth pooling in her core.

(She’s not wearing any panties today, either. They’re in the professor’s pocket.)

“Yeah. I got an A.”

“What?!” Aerith covers her mouth, chances a fearful glance at their professor. Luckily, he didn’t seem to hear, and she turns back to Tifa. “You said you failed!”

Oh, she did. Tifa failed that exam miserably.

“He…gave me _extra_ credit.”

And, well, he’s just a really, _really_ nice guy.

Confusion is etched into Aerith’s features, and she looks at Tifa with wide eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but her voice is swallowed by someone else’s.

“Miss Lockhart,” Professor Strife calls, his tone hard, and Tifa jolts a bit. “I’m talking. Quiet down.”

She smiles, holds his stare, flutters her lashes at him as she replies.

“Sorry, _sir_.”

He looks away very, _very_ quickly.

(What Aerith doesn’t know won’t hurt her.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3


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